i tell lies

i tell lies.

it is what i do.
a genetic imprint from my father, the preacher man.

you can call them stories, tall tales or sermons.
but they are all just a pack of lies.

someone walks in the door and shouts "chef!" and i answer.
it is a lie.

but i have already put on the coat, picked up a knife and used the word "chiffonade" without a pause, a breath or a blink.

i am not a chef.
i never have been.
i am not an indian, a preacher's daughter, a lesbian, a girl, a woman (with a "y" or without one), a feminist, an artist, a writer, a friend, a lover, a voter, a humanitarian or even "peggy jean".

i am inarticulate.
it is halloween every day.
i dress up in some sporty little personality and go to work.
or out to play.

but in between i am emily's mother.
that is not a lie.
that is the only true thing about me.

the meridian.
the arc of blue light.

but that really has no language.
a mouth cannot form around such things.
it was not designed to do so.
even if it is the truth.

the truth does not set you free,
another lie my daddy told me.

it just gives perspective to everything else.
like what can kill you,
shouldn't.
and what can't, should.

it's the lies that turn you loose to become
mythic, epic and holy, that fill you up and let you sleep
without hunger.

and like daddy always said:
"the truth never holds water."

so i tell lies.
easy, rich and full.

it is what i do.